


For All The Rest of Time

by AdrenalineRevolver



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, I Made Myself Cry, Indirect Suicide, M/M, Murder, Reincarnation, Suicidal Thoughts, minor Enjolras, minor Feuilly, minor combeferre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 15:22:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16684129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdrenalineRevolver/pseuds/AdrenalineRevolver
Summary: To be reincarnated one first has to die.





	For All The Rest of Time

Montparnasse was running past the point of exhaustion. His throat tasted vaguely of iron and he thought he could collapse at any moment but he had to keep running. That fool. 

He knew this whole affair was doomed yet he didn’t stop the man. He told himself that it was all talk. Then he reassured himself that the Lamarque bastard had longer than it seemed. Then he lied and told himself that they could succeed. 

All bullshit. He knew that this was something that was more about principle than success. 

Yet he let him go. He let him go because the hideous worthless Romantic ideas of heroism and rebellion had infected him to some degree. He also couldn’t stand the price of forcing him to stay. It would be like ripping the wings from a bird because you want to keep it safe.

It was obvious this was failing now. The people, or what have you, were not going to join in this fight. He would retrieve J-

“Vive la France! Vive L'avenir!”

The volley of shots felt like it pierced his soul. 

Dimly he was aware that he was screaming and a National Guardsmen had grabbed him. 

It didn’t even occur to him to slit the bastard’s throat. 

All he wanted to do was get closer, to touch the fearless, stupid, poet one last time, to apologize for making him die alone. 

Montparnasse had always been aware that Jehan was a small thing yet seeing him unmoving proved how much space he had taken up with the sheer force of his personality. The glow of mystery that surrounded him had faded away to reveal the very vulnerable man underneath it. The man Montparnasse had failed.

When he was tossed to the ground he sincerely hoped they would execute him as well however fate wasn’t done punishing him for his misdeeds. The morons decided Montparnasse must be this rebel’s brother for all his broken cries and previous uninvolvment. He hadn’t even thought to bring a gun to prove himself a threat. 

They tied him up and dragged him away. At some point with his throat horse and his every muscle aching he went limp. All he did was strain harder and harder to see Jehan and his halo of blood. Even as he fought the urge to throw up he knew Jehan would be transfixed by the sight, he had become the most macabre masterpiece the world had ever known; brilliance destroyed for nothing. No gravestone would ever top the image seared into Montparnasse’s mind. 

\----------

When he eventually decided to escape that night it proved a simple thing. They had not checked his pockets in the chaos. Slit one man’s throat. Stab another. He thought he would enjoy it, he only felt tired. 

Unsure of what to do with himself he wandered towards the barricades again. It was morning when he arrived and the scene was a grizzly one. It did nothing for him.

It was only when he looked down at the bodies lined in a row could he truly feel again. Jehan had already been taken away by his family however another figure caught his eye. Small and broken lay the body of Gavroche. This was a boy. A child. Shot down by grown men who could claim Montparnasse to be a depraved murderer for defending himself or offing some rich bastard. They simply shot this child with no repercussions. 

Not a soul will care. Not even his parents.

Beside him lay the body of Eponine. He wants to call her all sorts of horrible names for her stupidity but she was here for the same reason that Montparnasse was. She was simply luckier. At least the foolish woman can rest now. 

Glancing back at the other bodies he suddenly sees them to be children as well. Children who were here because they were angry and dumb enough to think they could change something or looking to die with those they love. 

He doesn’t remember most of them. Not truly. Jehan would mention them and he would pretend to care in their games. What if some of them were like Gavroche and Eponine? What if all they had left in the world to remember them was Montparnasse? A murderer and a thief as the only living reminder for children who died at the hands of soldiers who don't care if people starve. 

There is a curly haired boy he dimly recognizes. The red-head had lived on the streets as a child at the same time as Montparnasse had. He remembers that the child had been too kind in life. Splitting crusts of bread with other children who had done him no favors and at one point asking Montparnasse to be friends. Montparnasse had refused so the fool's inevitable death wouldn't hurt. It still did. 

No one was going to come for this man if they had not already. Anyone who cared for him had no reputation to uphold or fears of attack from the dreaded rabble.

The pretty one he remembers as well, always so fired up. Montparnasse thought him an idiot. His crown of gold is stained red and Montparnasse finds himself wishing he had bothered to listen to him. 

He was right. In every ounce of anger the doomed man had been right. 

When no-one returns to claim the red-head's body he steals it. He's not sure why. A pauper's grave doesn't feel right. Montparnasse takes him deep into the catacombs through and lays him down at a long forgotten altar. There was no dirt to bury him and he wasn't with the others however he wouldn't be alone. Montparnasse left the man's cockade pinned to him, if someone came along the body they would know it truly didn't belong but he couldn't make himself remove it.

\----------

He killed Thénardier later that month. The man had strolled back in from some wedding Montparnasse had refused to take part in with glasses he recognized. 

They had been on one of the boys. 

He had gone to the barricades, seen his dead children, and stolen from the corpses. 

Had he even bothered to take them home? Was Gavroche tossed into a public grave because of this bastard? 

Thénardier had only vaguely mentioned Eponine's 'disappearance' as a way to try and convince him to attend this wedding.

Montparnasse sunk his blade into the man’s gut without a second thought. He was too angry to think. 

Thénardier's wife had tried to have him arrested but she was such trash she herself was arrested for previous crimes. He slipped away easily while she argued with the inspector.

Montparnasse was unsure of what to do with the glasses, as he knew nothing about the man they belonged to. Finding a grave would be impossible without even a name to go by.

He left them on a table in the café.

\----------

It was in short order that he took in Azelma. She infuriated him if he was to be honest. The girl had been so controlled that she felt the need to ask his permission to do much of anything. She was always waiting to be treated as a pawn rather than a child. 

If she didn’t have painful locks of auburn hair and an innocent way of asking horrible questions he would be tempted to lose his temper with her. Instead she just broke his heart in ways she had no understanding of. 

He chose not to keep the truth from her. Her siblings fought and died trying to make the world better when the world didn’t even deserve it. She deserved a blood relative to be proud of. 

He wasn’t sure how he could possibly give the girl any semblance of hope. He managed to pay the old bitty that lived next to them to make sure the girl was literate. Other than that he could just try to hoard money for her. 

That became much easier as his care in his appearance relaxed and his targets became more ambitious. Montparnasse was not acquainted with political speeches or anything so ridiculous however he knew who had robbed him of everything. So that’s who he would rob. 

Members of the National Guard, the upper class who exploited their workers, any member of nobility he could get his hands on. Suddenly he had a very narrow but very profitable list of marks. The girl would have plenty of money when he was gone.

\----------

Surprisingly he was able to carry on like this for nearly four years. 

He did not see the man that shot him as he slipped from the mark’s window he only felt the bullet go ripping through his shoulder. The air was forced from his lungs and he tumbled to the ground. 

It didn’t seem likely that he would survive this. A shame, he supposed, there was more he could have done. Perhaps an assassination attempt on the king.

Montparnasse staggered through the streets as quietly as he could and tossed aside anything that might be too identifying. He would love to die with his knife on him however should it somehow be tracked back to Azelma there was now no one to lie for her. 

He reassured himself that she would be alright. The girl could read and write, she had been told the truth about her parents, and she was pretty. She could marry a decent man based on the money Montparnasse had hidden in their apartment alone. 

He’d also prepared her for the idea that he might not come back from ‘work’ due to an accident. Yes she would be upset but she knew better than to look. She also knew how to pay the rent on her own and Montparnasse had left her more than one weapon to defend herself with. She would be fine without him. She had to be.

His heart caught when he reached the spot where Jehan had been executed. Perhaps it was his own blood loss but the stones still seemed red. No amount of rain would ever wash the blood from here. 

Slowly, carefully, Montparnasse laid next to where Jehan’s body once was. He could feel his exhaustion beginning to overtake him as he tried to think of something, anything to say. 

He supposed there was only one thing he could possibly say. 

“Vive la France.” 

\-----------

Montparnasse woke with a shuttering sob and clutched at his shoulder. It hurt so vividly. He was drenched in sweat and his heart was pounding in his ears.

“…Mont are you okay?” A tired voice that it feels like he hasn’t heard in years mumbles beside him. 

When all he can do is cry and cling to him Jehan rolls over and wraps his arms around him tightly.

“Oh mon chaton.” He whispers as Montparnasse hides his face in his chest. His heart is mercifully still beating. “I had hoped memory would escape you forever.” Jehan strokes his hair as if he’s the most precious thing in the world. 

“I-I was too late. I-I couldn’t. You were alone.” Montparnasse can’t manage anything more. Jehan may be here but he wasn’t. He wasn’t for so long. 

“I heard you. Hearing you scream for me may have been the most painful moment of my life but I didn’t feel alone.” His voice cracks in such a way that any possible doubt is driven from Montparnasse’s mind. 

This had been no vivid nightmare. He had lived that life and so had Jehan. They were memories tangling with the memories of this one where there was no such monarchy to overthrow. Memories where he’d done plenty of things he’d rather leave behind but taking a life wasn’t one of them. Memories that were gnawing at him telling him he had to check on Azelma despite the fact that he didn’t know that girl as anything more than a friend’s sister here.

“I died there.” His voice is strangled and Jehan’s grip on him tightens. “I died when you were shot and again four years later.” 

“I’m here now. We both are.” Jehan pulls him into a kiss that Montparnasse can’t even bring himself to care if he’s ruining by crying. 

“Don’t leave me again.” It’s a desperate plea.

“Never.” Jehan then slowly sits up. “Come shower with me. I doubt either of us will sleep again tonight.”

Montparnasse follows him with a fragile smile. “I never want to fall asleep when I’m with you.” The familiarity of flirting with him feels so unreal.

Jehan outright giggles and it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. “I’m going to pretend I’m not being successfully wooed by an Aerosmith rip off.” 

Montparnasse laughs and makes a hideous snorting noise that he would swear is because he’s been crying. He had forgotten he could laugh. “Well you’ve done it now, that’s our song now.”

“At least now we’ll sound as old as we feel.” Jehan kisses his forehead and Montparnasse commits the action to memory. Just in case. 

“…Jehan?” He trails his fingers down the poet’s braid. “I think I would like to join your little meetings.” He’s afraid to say too much, he’s too raw to explain tonight.

“The pointless ones run by an idiot?” His teasing is nothing but fond. “I’d like that. So will they. Especially when I tell them they have no choice.” Jehan helps him out of his shirt and is smiling at something, likely how terribly Montparnasse’s hair is messed up.

“Do they recall?” When he talks about before his speech feels elevated, too lofty to be his own. Montparnasse doesn't think he's ever said 'recall' in this life.

“Some do. Combeferre remembered first, he’s guided us through it as best he can.” Jehan folds the sweaty t-shirt with far more dignity than it deserves. 

“Which is he?” There were so many bodi-boys.

“One of Enjolras’ closest friend’s, the rather brilliant one who may have an evil lab in his basement. He even has the glasses for it.” Jehan’s head pops up when he notices how Montparnasse stills. “Mont?”

“G-gold rims.” It’s not a question; he can almost feel them in his hand.

“They used to be.” Jehan whispers.

“T-they were stolen.” Montparnasse stares at the floor. “I didn’t know where his grave was so I just put them back in the café.” 

Jehan quietly brings Montparnasse’s hand to his chest where he can feel Jehan’s heartbeat fluttering. “He has no grave to return them to now. None of us do. Death only held us long enough to reset her game.”

Montparnasse stares at their hands and wonders about Jehan’s cryptic philosophizing, normally he didn’t dwell on Jehan’s deeper statements for his own sanity’s sake but this caught him. “Have we done this before? Will we do it again?”

“I have no way of knowing. All I know is that I have loved you before and if there is an after I will love you then. I loved you even before I remembered the life we had before. So I am not afraid, even if we’re to spend eternity amusing death I know I’ll find you. I know you’ll love me. I know you’ll be a dork who tries to look like a badass. There are worse eternal fates.”

The modern teasing slipped into older prose made him laugh with how right it felt. “You’re terribly good at making me trust you.” 

“I’ve had a century of practice. Now strip so you can have an excuse to kiss me in the shower.” Jehan kisses his cheek and turns on the water. 

“As you wish.” Montparnasse grins, belatedly realizing the phrase is now a reference. He's not entirely sure if he meant it as one.

“You absolute dweeb.” Jehan sounds delighted regardless.

**Author's Note:**

> Imma keep it real with you chief i burst into tears writing this.
> 
> It also didn't even occur to me that Mont committed roundabout suicide until he did. oops.


End file.
